


gatekeeper, fatekeeper

by lycanthus (timedilations)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Death, Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 09:30:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10554022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timedilations/pseuds/lycanthus
Summary: Bone ornaments clatter against temple walls.A oneshot from an AU of mine featuring Jonah and August. Blood abound.





	

“Elusive, as always.”

Bone ornaments clatter against temple walls. The sound of it echoes plaintively through the blackened corridors. Candlelight is swallowed in the maw of darkness. The gatekeeper continues, walking through arched passages and sigil-ridden walls.

“The miracles. They’re elusive. Living beings without physical form, cursed to serve karma until karma calls judgement. Writhing in their own hell. One of my colleagues— Yonah —did you hear?”

A murmur in the shadows behind the gatekeeper. He pauses, turns towards his client. His staff clatters against the tile floor.

“Indeed. His brother— poor soul —was made into a miracle.”

At the end of the hall stands one door, black as charcoal, without embellishment. Among the ostentatious decor throughout the temple, its plainness draws attention better than any gold-threaded tapestry. The gatekeeper stops in front of it, his robes skirting the dust-covered floor.  
  
“I must tell you again,” he says. “Miracles exact a price equal to that of their service. You may be paying with your life today. Is your wish truly worth it?”

From the shadows, a hooded figure emerges. The gatekeeper’s client. One hand slowly pulls back the cloth, parting lapels to reveal sigil-ridden hands. Robes that match the keeper’s own. Golden hair, well kept. And bright eyes belonging to a face that yet still smiles despite the dark circles surrounding them.  
  
   The gatekeeper steps back. “Yonah?”  
  
   The other gatekeeper smiles. “Did I surprise you, Phiros?”  
  
Yonah, nineteen. His story, well-known in the clergy and public alike. A pair of twins so inseparable, it was said they shared the same soul— until the mark of the beast marred the other’s body.  
  
Those with the mark were destined to be killers. It was as the prophets said, and they were never wrong. The usual punishment was cleansing by fire, yet when his body was uncovered from the ashes, they threw it into the chamber of miracles. His soul, devoured by the monster inside, to join other sinners in their cacophonous agony. He was thirteen.  
  
“Don’t tell me… you’ve come to take your brother’s place?”  
  
“Ah, was I that transparent? How embarrassing.”  
  
Yonah casts off his disguise, murmuring a few words to summon his staff from the air. It materializes in a gentle glow, warm to the touch. Phiros watches on, observing the young keeper.  
  
   Yonah speaks first. “You will let me through, won’t you?”  
   Phiros replies, “Are you insane? Do you have a death wish?”  
   "Maybe I do. It doesn’t concern you.“  
   "Yonah, beyond this door lies unending, eternal suffering. You should know this— you’re a gatekeeper!”  
   "That I do. Your point?“  
   "Why? Why are you doing this?”  
   "Because I am tired, Phiros.“  
   "Tired— of what?”  
   "Of being conscious. Of living. Of existing.“  
   "Find some other way to solve your problem then! I can’t let you do this to yourself!”  
   "It’s about time August was set free, don’t you think?“  
   "August is a beast! Besides, he isn’t even truly alive— remember?”  
   "—His burnt corpse on the pyre. I remember.“  
  
Phiros steps back. A circle of runes around Yonah now illuminate the floor. Energy flows like air, robes billowing in the current. The young keeper’s steady smile never budges, eyes locking onto the elder.  
  
"I still have a wish to make.  
  
Phiros readies his staff, standing his ground. "Only if I let you.”  


—  


Yonah closes the door behind him, wiping blood off onto the sleeve of his robe. A voice whispers in the darkness.  
  
   "Was it necessary to kill him? He was your friend.“  
  
   "I had to. He would’ve reported me to the clergy otherwise.”  
  
A chorus of laughter, hollow, echoing against the stone walls of the room. No light enters but through the grate high above Yonah’s head. He barely makes out the runes on the wall, dried brown and copper-like in scent.  
  
   "So you’ve finally come,“ the shadows whisper. "We knew you would, Yonah.”  
The gatekeeper steps closer, towards the shadows. A figure materializes— a shapeless mass of black, towering over him. Its surface writhes like worms, yet sharp and cold to the touch. A million sentient needles murmuring the millions of pains, wishes, and fears of all the million victims of fate.  
  
Yonah pulls the miracle into an embrace. His flesh is immediately cut, frostbitten at their incisions. A child-like voice, unheard before, emerges from the miracle.  
  
   "Yonah— don’t touch us. Please. You’ll hurt yourself.“  
   "I haven’t heard your voice in years, August.”  
   "Leave, now. Leave us to our punishment.“  
   "No.”  
  
Yonah, for the first time in years, begins to cry.  
  
   "I see you… up on the pyre. Every day of my life. I watched you scream. I watched you burn. I watched you beg for mercy. But all I could do… I let you die, August.“  
  
   "And you’ll have to see it again and again! You don’t understand what it’s like! I relive those fires every day, every second, every moment— that’s what it is to be a miracle! Please— don’t do this to yourself. I beg you.”  
  
   Yonah pulls back, wiping his eyes. Drops of blood run down his cheek, his lips, down to the floorboard.  
  
   "Miracles cannot refuse the command of a gatekeeper.“  
  
   The miracle whispers in disbelief as the runes on the wall glow red, illuminating the room in a haze of crimson. The floor shakes, creaks, every particle of it thrumming with magic.  
  
   "I’ve had enough, August. Now, please. Do your brother a favor. Something only you can do.”  
  
   "—Yonah!“  
  
A fire bursts at the keeper’s feet, quickly engulfing his legs, his torso. His robes disintegrate. Every cell in his body reacts to the seething heat, the ravenous flames, the indescribable pain. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts _it hurts **ithurts**_. Yet Yonah only stands there, every ounce of his concentration on the smile carefully fixed on his lips.  
  
   "Wreck havoc on them, August.”

 

—

 

When the clergy arrives, they see a boy there. No older than nineteen, with golden hair like his brother’s, yet eyes so hollow one can almost hear the empty chamber of his body echo— like the halls of a temple that for so long had trapped him in that room behind a little door.  
  
The priests stand there, confused, incredulous.  
  
“You know,” says the boy. “When I was up on the stake, I thought to myself— the prophecy must have been wrong. I never once thought of killing anyone.”  
  
One of the priests breaks out in a shriek, pointing at the air. His comrades look on, panicked and confused, before something seems to lift him up like a ragdoll.  
  
The others watch in horror as an invisible hand crushes his ribcage.  
  
“Funny how prophecies work.”

When August leaves the holy place, he takes his brother’s staff, conjuring up new robes with the knowledge he imparted him with. He looks at his hand. Closes it. Opens it again. Turning it over. This, his true flesh and blood, unmarred by the burns he remembers so well. He slowly walks through forest, feeling the dirt against his feet. The wind in his air. The breath of life filling his veins.  
  
This would be the start of a new era.  
  
Behind him, a sea of blood washes the temple floor.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like the execution here was really clunky. I may revisit this at some point since it's been sitting in my files forever. Still, I adore the setting. I may write more in this AU later on.


End file.
